


New York, New York

by Bittersweet



Series: 30 Days of One Shots [7]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, New York Rangers, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittersweet/pseuds/Bittersweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marc gets into some trouble on the streets of New York and goes to Cam for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New York, New York

New York.

He could use the tired clichés to describe the city¬—the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps—they were true after all, but they were the words of others. How they felt about the city. He preferred his own description. To him it was the city that was ruining his life.

He grunted as the three hundred pound biker wrapped him in a bear hug and slammed him back against the brick wall like he weighed nothing. Marc dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way as a black boot arced towards his head.

Back on his feet, he grabbed the collar of the biker’s leather vest and slammed his head forward into the wall. That just seemed to make the biker mad, letting out a roar like a wounded bear, and Marc had to move fast to keep the biker from getting his hands on him.

He still kept cuffs in his back pocket, probably part of the reason the bar’s patrons thought he was a cop, and he grabbed them now, snapping one around the biker’s left wrist as the fist attached to it flew towards his face. He used his momentum to get behind the biker and knock him to the ground, snapping the other cuff around the biker’s right wrist

“Stay down,” he snarled, cracking the biker’s head against the pavement, and stumbling to his feet when the biker stopped struggling.

A flash of movement from his right caught his attention and he turned just in time to deflect the blade of the knife that had been speeding towards him. The edge cut his bicep, catching slightly against his shirt, and he punched the kid with the knife in the face, thinking with satisfaction that he had probably broken the kid’s nose.

The kid stumbled back, clutching his face, and Marc took the opportunity to get out of there before someone else tried to make their mark with him. He ran around to the front of the bar and wasn’t at all surprised to find that some enterprising soul had stripped the ancient corolla of the few parts that had any value. He kept running and stopped a few blocks away, leaning against the side of a Chinese diner to catch his breath.

If anyone back there called the police the prints on the cuffs would connect him to the place but he doubted anyone would. He was sad to lose the cuffs though.

He turned his head to look at his arm. Blood was still oozing from the cut and he guesses it would need stitches. He swore and leaned his head back against the diner. He couldn’t go to a hospital, they’d ask too many questions. He swore again, there was really only one choice for him.

He started walking and glared at the sky as the storm that had been threatening all night finally broke. He hunched his shoulders against the wind and did his best to ignore the icy raindrops that were soaking through his shirt.

 

An hour later and the rain showed no signs of letting up. It was a relief when he walked into the heated lobby of his ex’s building. He could feel the suspicious gaze of the concierge following him as he made his way to the desk, dripping all the way across the tile floor.

“Can you call apartment 33 for me please?” Marc asked tiredly.

“It’s three in the morning sir,” the concierge told him. “Doctor Talbot is likely asleep.”

“I know,” Marc said resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Tell him it’s Marc and it’s an emergency. He’ll understand.” He willed the man not to argue with him, he didn’t have the energy to deal with anything more tonight.

The man picked up the phone, still looking reluctant.

Marc leaned against the counter as he waited for the short conversation to finish and the concierge to call the elevator. “Thanks,” he said ignoring the still sceptical look of the concierge as he walked into the elevator. It didn’t take very long to reach the eighteenth floor and Marc rang the buzzer next to Cam’s door.

The door opened a second later and Marc stared at the face of his ex. “Hey Cam,” he said.

“What happened?” Cam asked his eyes widening as he let Marc into the apartment.

Marc started shivering violently as his body adjusted to the warmth of the apartment after too many hours in the freezing rain. “Sorry,” he said as Cam grabbed a throw off the couch and threw it around Marc’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Cam told him. “Let’s get you warmed up and then I’ll take a look at your arm.”

Cam left him in a large bedroom, his own Marc guessed, telling him to get out of his wet things and get under the covers while he brought him something hot to drink.

Marc winced as he peeled his shirt off and his cold-numbed fingers fumbled with his jeans, the soaked denim being difficult. He threw the clothes into the tub of the ensuite so that they wouldn’t leave a puddle of water on Cam’s nice floor and slipped into the bed, keeping the throw wrapped tightly about him. The blankets were still warm and they smelled like Cam. He pulled the blankets up around him, the smell reminding him that there was still something good in this city.

He jumped guiltily when Cam came back into the room with a cup of chamomile tea and a first aid kit. “Thanks,” he said taking the cup gratefully and wrapping his hands around it.

“Can I take a look at your arm?” Cam asked.

Marc nodded and slid his arm out from under the throw. Cam ripped open an alcohol swab and started wiping down the cut. Marc saw him frowning out of the corner of his eye and was glad that he didn’t say anything about what was obviously a knife wound, though his face did take on that blank expression it had used to when they were together and Marc would come home from a case bruised and bleeding.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” Cam said pressing a gauze pad to the cut and taping it down. “But try not to do anything too strenuous that might open it up again.”

“Thanks Cam. You didn’t need to help me but—”

“I’m seeing someone Marc,” Cam blurted out. He flushed and bit his lip.

Marc stared at him. “Oh.” They had been broken up six months ago but the news still felt like a knife to his heart.

“John’s a good guy Marc,” Cam was saying. “And he doesn’t show up at three in the morning having been shot or stabbed or on the run from some criminal wanting him dead.”

Marc took a deep breath. “I’m happy for you Cam, you deserve a good guy.”

“You can stay here tonight,” Cam said. “But I don’t think you should come back again.”

Marc nodded.

“I’m sorry Marc…”

Marc forced a smile onto his face. “Don’t worry about it Cam. I told you I was happy for you. I was thinking about leaving New York anyway, maybe going back home. I’ll be all right Cam,” he added quietly.

Cam nodded, stood up and left the room.

Marc laid back in the bed, listening to the wind and rain beating against the windows. He really hated this city.


End file.
